Poets

Please do not aim me, a rifle wriggles and shivers. Shut up! Yells the hand. I have to shoot those kids. But they are still very young! Look at their adolescent smiles and they demand nothing but your welfare too.

At the heart of a bloody history I found Paul Celan secretly taught the mother of time and the seeds of night to walk.

Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Dysphoria, with a little bit of gaiety.